The Bad Friends - European Tour
by GhostlyJasper
Summary: The Black Eagle is a band. A dysfunctional, messy, miserable band. And they're going on tour. This couldn't be any more of a disaster for Gilbert Beilschmidt, but there's much more to come... which might make his life much, much better. If only he could escape the Black Eagle.


My phone went off.

 _God damn it, Anton, go to sleep._

I put my pillow over my head and tried to go back to sleep.

 _Ring, ring._

"Okay, chief asshole, what is it now?" I muttered under my breath. I lazily took my phone and opened up the group chat. I yawned, then balked at what Anton had finally announced.

 ** _From: Head Loser_**

 _Thank god he doesn't know what I call him on my phone._ I thought.

 _Boys, we're finally going_

 _Tonight is the night_

I knew immediately what he meant.

My phone went off again, this time with a message aimed at me.

 _Gilbert you lazy ass, you better not forget things like you always do_

 _We're going to be gone for like a month_

 _Do_

 _Not_

 _Disappoint_

"Ugh." I groaned into my pillow. Disgruntled as I was, I had also been the one who suggested going on tour in the first place.

Okay, okay. I'll back up.

I'm the guitarist for a band called The Black Eagle. We suck. Badly.

Even my little bro agrees. _Well, I mean, he normally agrees with anything that has to do with me being miserable. Damn._

Anyway. Back to my point... we're going on tour. Which, honestly, is more like, "Hey, do you wanna go drive around Europe for like a month and bribe barkeeps to let us play bad metal in front of some twenty-odd people?" I really should have pitched it like that. I could've gotten kicked out for sure.

See, here's the thing: I hate my band.

They're the kind of people who _suck ass at playing_ , and think it sounds awesome. They are the _only_ reason that I hate music. And - even worse - the lead singer? He's a complete douchebag. Wanna try to guess his name?

Anton. Ugh, fucking _Anton_.

Our bassist is one of Anton's idiotic cronies, Roland. He's unimpressive. He also tries to interrupt my solos.

...

Seriously, what person names their kid Roland?

And then we have poor Uriah. He's actually a chill guy, like every other drummer I've ever, ever known. (They're all hipsters. All of them.) He's a pretty soft-spoken kid. Sadly, he got sucked into this miserable pile of shit along with me, and...

Of course, they are my bandmates. The universe likes fucking me over every few years, but this time... this time it's hell-bent on _destroying_ me.

My phone ringed again. I rolled my eyes and let it be, and sat at the edge of my bed. I rubbed at my eyes and ruffled my hair, and then I rose (stumbled) onto my feet. I stepped around my room cautiously, as the floorboards were creaky, and grabbed my shirt off of the floor. Yes, I wore it yesterday, and no, I do not care.

I pulled it over my head as I simultaneously tried to think of all the stuff I needed to bring along.

I heard the screeching of Anton's car right outside the house.

"Shit," I grumbled to myself.

I shuffled around in the darkness, grabbing up a random pile of clothes (because I need to change into something - I'm not _that_ disgusting) and shoved it in an empty bookbag. I struggled with getting my shoes on and snatched my guitar by it's neck, then rushed down the stairs and out the front door.

I raced across the lawn and popped open the trunk of the car, not bothering to greet the others. I already knew that my dad must've heard something, so I was going as _fast_ as humanly _goddamned possible_. I promptly jumped into the car beside Uriah, who was sitting in the back looking kind of regretful. "Christ, it's so cold." I shivered. "Come on man, hurry up! We need to go _now_!"

I glimpsed the light in the other upstairs room turn on. _My little brother... ah jesus. I'm going to get ratted out, aren't I?_

Anton, who was sitting in the driver's seat, nodded and slammed the gas.

* * *

And so it began.

The first few minutes were tense, but once we got out of our hometown and closer to the French border, we were euphoric. It was pretty ridiculous, but I can at least remember that I was getting along with the band for once.

Later that night, we had to stop at a motel. Listen, you can't drive for like, eight hours straight. Unless you're insane. And I'll have you informed that I have a surprisingly stable mental state.

I couldn't help but scrunch my nose up at where we were staying.

Now listen, some motels are nice, but this one... ugh. Okay, think Motel 6 in America. It's basically where you would go when you needed somewhere to blaze, or maybe you have more dignity than the average person and you would rather hook up with a prostitute in an actual establishment rather than in a car. I'll also have you informed that that's never happened to me.

I've never hooked up with anyone, ever.

I am the most pathetic, fluffy person on the planet. I realize this. I get enough crap about it from Anton. Don't start.

Anyway.

This motel was dingy. The lights were naturally dim - not awesome - and there were various assortments of stains on the walls. I tried to convince myself that they weren't blood but I honestly couldn't.

And the room - oh, the room - that place smelled awful. If I describe it to you, you will imagine it, and then you'll keel over and die right where you stand. And the sheets were this off-white that really unsettled me, and the T.V. really sucked - it's not that it mattered, but it would've helped our situation if at least that thing worked.

Luckily, I didn't have to sleep on those sheets - It was deemed that Uriah and I would sleep on the floor. I think that was more meant as an attack on me, but you know, I honestly didn't give any shits.

So here I was. On the floor. Staring up at the ceiling.

I sighed.

"Uriah, are you still awake?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah..."

I sat up. "So... you're bored. I'm bored."

"Yeah?" Uriah turned around to lay on his other side. His greasy dark-blonde hair stuck up in all sorts of directions. His somewhat-tan face was pimply. I don't wanna be mean to the kid, but I honestly think he should get some facial cleansing stuff. Also, he could use some shampoo, too. Damn, kid.

"Well." I got up. "It sounds idiotic, I know-"

"Most of the stuff you say sounds really stupid." Uriah stretched, and then struggled onto his feet. "Let's go."

* * *

If we'd been struggling before, we definitely were now.

So maybe we snuck around town, went to a bar for a while... point is, we can't get in the room.

"Uriah, check your pockets..." I fumbled around in my jacket pockets, but still couldn't find the room key.

"I don't _have_ it, I already told you this two minutes ago."

"Well, where the hell else would it be?!" I rolled my eyes in frustration and groaned. I refused to sit against the wall, though. Only God knows what happened _there_.

There was a moment of silence before Uriah looked at me, right in the eyes, and with a monotone voice, said:

"Gilbert, did you give the key to the barkeep?"

Did I give the key to the barkeep?

Oh my God.

I definitely did.

The key was in my wallet.

I gave the barkeep money and _a key to our room_.

Oh my God.

"Uriah, I seriously gave it to the barkeep." I hissed. "I legitimately gave our key to the barkeep."

As I was busy contemplating my existence and how stupid I was, Uriah began quiety chuckling. "Jesus, Gilbert. Jesus Christ..." He shook his head and looked down at his feet, continuing to laugh absurdly. "What?!" Gilbert squawked in agitation. "In my defense-"

"Dude, there's no way you don't think that that was _really_ dumb."

I was silent. "Well, yeah! That was really stupid!" I huffed. "Now what do we do?"

"We could knock-" Uriah tried to reason.

"Do you really want to wake up either of those two?" Gilbert raised a brow in question. Uriah didn't reply, and Gilbert continued. "I thought so."

"There won't be a need for that."

Gilbert and Uriah looked to the doorway. Roland looked down at where they sat with disdain, his hair flattened on one side and his dark eyes showed only severe annoyance. And obviously, he was not happy that he was woken. "Just get inside, you idiots."

* * *

The next day we snuck outside as quickly as we could, trying to avoid the staff. Obviously, I was in a bit of trouble with the others. You do not believe the tonguelashing I dealt with. There really needs to be a different phrase for that, I swear. Tonguelashing sounds like it has quite a few serious undertones.

 _Wink wink_.

Then again, you know what's more undertone-y and generally pervy?

France.

Just, coincidentally, our next stop.

* * *

 _NEXT TIME ON TOUR!_

 _Will Gilbert and the b(l)and make it across the border? Will they survive the sexy place that is France?_

 _Will our main characters just meet up already?!_

 _Find out next time on TOUR!_

(Oml what have I done)

(The meme has gone too far)

Anyway, hi!

I've finally gotten around to starting the prequel, aaaaaaand... I'm actually really excited!

The fact that Alter-Ego will be coming to a conclusion was leaving me... incomplete. And I honestly just can't leave that universe behind, because it has so much of my life and personal history attached to it.

So, I'm technically giving it a new lease of life. It's a little window into Gil's life and past, and why he came to America. It'll also have a romantic twist later on, so I hope this story is as equally successful as _Alter_.

Here's to the fans who helped this happen - let's get this show on the road!

Signing off,

-Red


End file.
